


Just This Side of Heaven

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cancer Puppy, Grief, Hurt And Some Comfort, Pet Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 12:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11185458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Eliot thought he’d understood grief. But this was different, and what he needed most was closure.





	Just This Side of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of fans have wondered how Eliot knew about Rainbow Bridge, and the answer smacked me dead in the face, so I wrote this. The Rainbow Bridge piece isn’t mine; the author has always been unknown. You can see it at The Rainbow Bridge's main website. I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic! Enjoy.

Just This Side of Heaven

By Lexalicious70 (aka The ChampagneKing70)

 

It’s been five days but the pain is just as fresh as it had been on the day it happened.

 

Eliot drained his wine glass for the fourth time that night as he sat in the near-darkness of his room. He could hear talking and laughter from downstairs, including Margo, who had declared him “an emo bummer” and had exiled him to his room to “figure out his shit.”

 

Eliot set his wine glass aside and crossed the room to open his closet door. He moved aside some shirts and a few pairs of good shoes, and then drew out a small brown wicker crate. Tears pricked his eyes and he set it on the bed.

 

“This is so stupid.” He murmured, putting a hand on the crate. “It’s not like you were even my dog.”

 

But in way, Cancer Puppy had been his. Eliot had named the enchanted dog Gerald during his first year, and when Dean Fogg had questioned him about it, Eliot had simply held the ancient puppy to his chest and said, “Because any dog that’s 149 years old—and that’s people years, not dog—deserves his own name.”

 

And so Gerald he was—at least it had been until five days ago, when Quentin had accidentally killed the puppy with a spell that had been too powerful for him to control.

 

 _But it wasn’t just Quentin . . . I helped him create that spell. I helped him kill Gerald._ Eliot thought to himself, and that silent declaration caused more tears to drip from his eyes.

 

“Christ, this is all so fucking maudlin.” He sighed, lifting a hand to wipe his face. “But exactly where does one go to find closure that doesn’t come in a bottle?” He glanced around the room and his gaze fell on his old battered laptop, almost buried under a discarded sweater—Quentin’s—in the corner. He went over to kick the sweater aside before picking up the laptop and shoving into an old leather messenger bag. After opening a portal that allowed him to travel short distances, Eliot found himself stepping into an abandoned room in the basement of Brakebill’s main building. It was one of the few places electronics worked and the only place magic didn’t fuck up the building’s already weak Wi-Fi connection. Eliot pulled a stool over to an old scarred table and sat down with his laptop. After a moment, he was signed in and Googling “pet loss.” The screen cycled for almost thirty seconds And Eliot lit a cigarette, glaring at the swirling circle through a haze of smoke. When the results finally popped up, Eliot peered at the one at the top of the page.

 

“The Rainbow Bridge. Pet grief for gays, by gays?” He asked himself, clicking the link. Something that looked like a poem appeared, along with a color drawing of what looked like the pearly gates, only on a smaller scale. He took a drag of his smoke before reading it aloud softly. “Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.” Eliot felt his throat close and he took another long drag on his cigarette.

 

“All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.” Eliot’s voice quivered and he wiped the back of his left hand across his mouth, feeling his lips twist with emotion. “Shit.” He blinked until the words came back into focus, but his throat felt like he’d swallowed the world’s spiniest cactus.

 

“They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.” Eliot’s voice broke completely and his narrow chest began to hitch as more tears filled his eyes and then rapidly overflowed. He crammed a fist against his mouth and read the rest silently, his chest and throat so thick with grief that he felt like he was choking on it.

 

_You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart._

_Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together...._

As Eliot finished the final sentence, a helpless sob tore from his throat and he pushed the laptop away to let his head fall forward, onto his right forearm. The first sob seemed to break open a huge fissure in the thickness in his chest and throat, letting out molten streams of grief that burned like strong liquor. They rendered Eliot helpless and he sat there, sobbing, releasing everything he’d held in since the night he and Quentin had buried Gerald behind the Physical Kids cottage. He cried for the death itself, for Quentin, who had turned his back to Eliot when they’d finished and sobbed, the tears more for his father than for the puppy. He cried for the stupid finality of death, impervious to his grief, and most of all, at the knowledge that for all his abilities and magic, people he cared about could die, and there would be no way to undo it.

 

After ten minutes the emotional storm lessened, then passed. Eliot raised his head and fumbled a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his blazer to wipe his face. He glanced around furtively to see if anyone had seen or heard him, but the basement was quiet. Eliot snapped the laptop shut, feeling spent and hollowed out. He bowed his head a moment, sniffling, and then shoved the laptop into the case before opening a portal to the rear of the cottage. He stepped through it and walked about 50 yards until he reached the small depression in the ground that marked the spot where they’d buried Gerald. Eliot cleared his throat.

 

“Hello, Gerald.” He said almost formally. “You know, I’m not sure if I believe what I just read, but it’s like Quentin always said about his Fillory books . . .the best parts have to be true. So I hope that’s where you went. And—and I’m sorry. Quentin is sorry too. I know that you’re only a dog and you had a limited understanding of your world, but I feel like it’s important for you to know that what happened was an accident.” Eliot put a hand to his chest. “We didn’t mean to hurt you. And you may not have been my dog, at least not just mine, but you should be remembered. For as long as students come to Brakebills.” Eliot raised his hands and began to cast a spell that was tied to the grounds itself and would last for as long as they did. The grey pre-dawn light flickered and changed, and then Eliot smiled at his handiwork.

 

“See you, Gerald.” He said, and then turned to slip through the back door of the cottage before anyone could spot him.

 

____________________________________________________________________________________

 

“Hey, Margo?”

 

Margo turned from the fridge, a little hung over and irritated that Eliot wasn’t awake to make them breakfast. She yanked a tub of cream cheese from the top shelf.

 

  
“What?”

 

“Did you—uhm—can you come look at this?”

 

“For Christ’s Sake, what is it?” Margo asked crossly, going to the window, which looked out over the back of the cottage. Her expression changed from irritation to mild wonder as she saw what Quentin was staring at.

 

“Is that—?”

 

“It is.” Quentin nodded, and then both of them were bolting out the back door at once. They approached the phenomenon carefully, and Margo frowned.

 

“What the hell do you think it means?”

 

“This is where we buried Gerald.” Quentin said, and Margo frowned.

 

“What—you mean cancer dog?”

 

“Cancer Puppy. Eliot named him Gerald.” He glanced up to the second floor, toward Eliot’s window, and then put a hand on Margo’s shoulder.

 

“C’mon. Let’s leave it.”

 

“Leave it?”

 

“Yeah. It’s pretty! And it makes a better marker than that shitty wooden thing I was going make.”

 

Margo stared at him for a moment before rolling her eyes, but a smile quirked her lips upward.

 

“All right, Q. Let’s go have a sinful amount of mimosa before we wake Eliot and force him to make us pecan waffles.”

 

Quentin smiled as she and Margo walked away from Gerald’s resting place, which now lay quiet and peaceful under an iridescent magical rainbow that arced over it, the sun throwing long fingers of color along the ground.

 

FIN

  _In memory of Inky, Lucky Lady, Lickety Split and Foxy Lady, who I hope are all waiting for me at Rainbow Bridge._

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
